


Fate Could Create You And I

by lightningwaltz



Category: Gemma Doyle Trilogy - Libba Bray
Genre: F/F, Female Friendship, Freedom, Growing Up, Language of Flowers, Misses Clause Challenge, ladies in suits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-19
Updated: 2011-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-27 14:12:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/296705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightningwaltz/pseuds/lightningwaltz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Felicity lets Pippa go, again and again and again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fate Could Create You And I

**Author's Note:**

  * For [auctorial](https://archiveofourown.org/users/auctorial/gifts).



> Hey auctorial, I hope this is at all like what you were looking for! I really loved your prompt and wound up finding myself working in a bunch of things you said you wanted: love letters, pre-canon Pippa/Felicity, Felicity meeting up with Gemma, Felicity generally being content in Paris. When I read all the things you liked in fic, this story idea came to me rather seamlessly. Organizing each section with the title of a Knight tarot card happened by semi-accident. But Felicity is so often described with knight imagery that it seemed appropriate.

__  
**.Knight of Wands.**  


The girls of Spence bandy around the word “fear” with far too much frequency for Felicity’s taste. How can she fear an exam, say, when she knows that human monsters roamed the earth? And she will not go into hysterics over Nightwing’s sternness. The headmistress is a terrible bore, but she listens sharply and pays close attention to what goes on under her roof. For that quality alone, Felicity gives her a grudging amount of respect. Felicity will always choose scurrying around regulations over being beaten down by the harsh face of indifference.

Felicity first experiences genuine panic at Spence during a spring day in her fourteenth year. Pippa is pressing flowers between the pages of her bible. She is biting her lip, her eyes very far away, lost in some dreamy other world. Felicity longs to bring her back, even if it seems like a small cruelty.

“Isn’t that terribly pagan, Pip?” Felicity teases. She hardly cares about Pippa’s potential blasphemy; she only wants to hear her response. Pippa can be counted on to be thoroughly unconventional, even if she wraps it prettily in cutting sweetness.

The side of Pippa’s mouth ticks up in a casual half-grin. “Using the bible? No, I don’t think so. God created these flowers after all. I am admiring his creation.” Pippa is so very lovely, all gorgeous curls and startling eyes. Felicity often loves to drown in the perfect symmetry of her friend’s features. She’s distantly aware that she should feel jealous, but she never has.

It happens with violent suddenness. Pippa topples from her chair, the white poppy petals in her hand spilling to the floor. When she sees that Pippa is writhing on the floor, Felicity gathers herself into action. This is something beyond her control; she runs for their headmistress.

Later, when they know that Pippa will be well, Nightwing explains Pippa’s condition. Epilepsy is something that’s whispered about in salons as something that happens to someone’s poor third cousin once removed. (Of course they’re institutionalized now. What else could their family do?) It’s hard to reconcile hushed horror stories with Pippa, but Felicity quickly makes room in her brain for these new facts. If it afflicts Pippa, then it cannot be as horrible as people say it is.

After all, Felicity knows something about sweeping things under the rug. She knows about blaming the wronged party. She knows she will never abandon Pippa.

When the doctors deem her well enough for visitors, she goes to see her friend. She places a handful of flowers in Pippa’s hand.

“Primrose?” Pippa asks, tentatively. Felicity can recognize the fervor in her friend's eyes. _please don’t let anything change between us. Please please please_.

“I saw it and thought of your ongoing obsession with the language of flowers.” Felicity rolls her eyes.

“It symbolizes eternal love, you know.” Pippa sounds very prim and very tired.

Felicity nods. “Well… So.” She is as obsessed with symbolism and ritual as Pippa can be, though with her it may take different forms. At the moment this action just seems silly. Maudlin. “There you have it.” She smirks a bit, trying to seem above it all.

Abruptly, Pippa smiles in return and Felicity feels a tad better about her gesture. “I thought you would despise me if you knew.”

“Don’t be silly. I’d fight anyone who was tasteless enough to despite you.” Perhaps fight them literally.

Perhaps to the death.

Pippa is giggling. “Of all the people I know, you’re the most like a brave knight in some fairy tale.” She brushes her lips against Felicity’s cheek then, lingering a touch longer than is appropriate.

And Felicity is certain of something she has suspected for a long time.

 ****  
_.Knight of Cups._  


~~How could you~~

_Dear Pippa,_

_Gemma is being her infernally secretive self. For someone so fond of half-truths, I think she’s an awful liar. But you know I thought that. You know all there is to know about me._

_I think Gemma’s hiding the fact that you chose to stay in the Realms. I suppose I don’t blame you for that. They are rather intoxicating aren’t they? I think you got to know my taste for powe and you found yourself relishing it more than you expected. Yes, I think you chose power over love, while I’m the one rattling around this school with a broken heart. It’s as though we changed places, and I’m finding I don’t much care for it._

_There were ways around that marriage, Pip. I blame myself for not speaking up and making plans with you when you felt hopeless. I promised once that I’d fight anyone who hated you. I have lately realized that I think I’d also fight anyone unworthy who tried to own you._

_We could have done it. I would have escaped with you and… then I’m not sure what. Cut my hair, pretended to be a boy and married you?_

_Written down it sounds impossible and ridiculous. Maybe it was. I should have come with Gemma to the realms and stayed with you there. The older I get, the more I know myself, and the more I know I would never be happy in a marriage to any man. No matter how handsome or chivalrous he proves to be. Right now I feel quite certain I would want to spend the rest of my days with you. Still I never offered, and you never asked. I hate you so much for leaving me, but I still love you more than anyone I have ever known._

_Yours, Felicity._

****  
_.Knight of Pentacles._  


Felicity wakes from a lonely dream of Pippa. She has them with some frequency. This wraith’s hands are always stained with the juice of blackberries (or blood) and  she simply watches her with sad, unnaturally pale blue eyes; so unlike the deep violet that Felicity remembers. This is the echo of a memory, not a reflection of what truly is or was. Pippa is gone, gone. _gone_. And each night, the strength of Felicity’s nightmare diminishes. It’s as though her memories of her first love are fading to embers. For a time the thought made her unbearably sad. It feels like a kind of death, this ebbing away of something so fundamental to her nature.

 _That was the last time I will have that dream,_ Felicity thinks. It’s not a triumphant declaration so much as it is a statement of blank resolve.

Still, it’s something to focus on.

She leaves her bed, deciding that it’s a day to wear trousers. She dresses with an almost grim tenacity, but when she smiles into the mirror she realizes it looks genuine. The sun is shining, and the world outside her window feels so alive.

There are women like her in Paris. Not many, but she has encountered a few of them already. Some are witty, some are withdrawn, some are foolish, some are kind. All of them have stories, and many of them have seen tragedies too (otherworldly or no.) Today she feels ready to truly meet them.

 __  
**.Knight of Swords.**  


Felicity stares at the letter currently lying on the coffeehouse table. The paper is pale and she can see her handwriting beneath it. She traces a few of the words, her younger self’s penmanship appearing comparatively childish to her newly world-wise eyes. Around her she hears the chatter of the other patrons of the establishment- all women, of course. It is not one of the highly sophisticated salons that her mother frequents, but this place is much more honest. The rustle of fabric, the clinking of cups meeting saucers, occasionally punctured by laughter and hushed gossip. In some ways it reminds her acutely of lighter moments at Spence, though the innuendo and lingering glances between a couple of the ladies might not have been welcome there. Doubtless some busybody would have seen such behavior as too…. _forward_ , perhaps, even downright seemly, but they would have been too unimaginative to understand the source of their unease.

When Gemma Doyle walks into the café, Felicity is a little surprised at the way her heart all but leaps with happiness. But then again Gemma had a way of bringing excitement with her, with danger following closely behind. And the past four years have been kind to her. Felicity first notices that she is all but sauntering; confident, somehow, in way she had never been when they were schoolmates. Gemma’s smile is right, offset by something clandestine in her eyes. Felicity is glad to see it; Gemma’s basic nature remains unspoiled. And secrets, which they shared well before trust or affection, was what first bound them to one another.

“Felicity, you look well,” Gemma says, somewhat spoiling Felicity’s enthusiasm. It is the boring sort of greeting one would give to an acquaintance that can barely remember your name. Unacceptable.

“Gemma, that must be the height of fashion for America.” Indeed, Gemma looks very pretty, but the artless insult is worth it for the way Gemma’s eyes narrow.

She sits down at the table across from Felicity. “Crossing the ocean was a very stressful experience, but I might prefer getting back on the ship to being your verbal whipping boy.”

There. Better. “Ah yes. What could Paris have to offer when you could return immediately to America?”

Gemma’s response is a tad unexpected. At Spence she might turned sullen. Now she just shakes her head, laughing. “Have you been feeling put out all this time that I left for another continent? Poor Felicity.”

Felicity wars between annoyance and amusement. The latter wins out. “You know me exactly.” She takes a sip of coffee. “How was university?” Felicity couldn’t imagine wanting to return to schooling when the whole world was waiting, but she takes pride in Gemma’s accomplishments all the same.

“It was…” Gemma’s voice trails off. “Interesting.”

Silence.

“Very well, I feel perfectly caught up with your life now, Gemma. I suppose we can leave.”

Gemma sets her own coffee cup down on the table. She doesn’t leap to the bait. “It was surprising to be asked to give honest opinions every single day,” she says frankly. “People wanted to know what I thought, and they cared about what I had to say.”

“And how was that?” Felicity is intrigued in spite of herself.

Gemma shakes her head, a seemingly unconscious reaction. A few strands of red hair escape from where they are pinned. “I guess it’s what I was looking for all along.”

It’s a good thing to hear. “Well, alright. How about lovers?”

Her friend blushes a bit. Yes, most intriguing. “Well… Yes. I was surprised that I was able to feel affection for anyone after everything, but…” Gemma trails off. “Yes, there have been some.”

“Ah, everything you said sounds familiar.” Felicity feels very pleased with herself. Pleased with the both of them.

Gemma blinks before catching on. “You too?”

“Oh yes.”

And they sit there in the Parisian café smiling in a most unladylike fashion.

*****

Gemma returns with Felicity to her apartment.

Felicity has always loved ritual, and Gemma has always been willing to provide it.

A small part of Felicity will always belong to Pippa. But, all the same, she has grown and changed. Her first love will never leave her, but she will not allow it to be her cage, either. Felicity has had enough of cages.

In the end she and Gemma throw her one and only love letter to Pippa into the fire. It’s not a malicious act. Felicity does it with a happy and healing heart. The paper and ink convert to ash and flame. Smoke exits through the chimney, becoming part of the world and the blue skies above.


End file.
